Do Over
by PurpleMoon3
Summary: Dean died ten years ago when his deal came due, so who's this kid that looks so much like him?
1. Bobby

**Do Over  
**

**A Supernatural/Dark Angel Fanfic**

**Disclaimer: Eric Kirpke and James Cameron own Supernatural, and Dark Angel, respectively.**

**Part One of Six: Bobby**

If he was feeling nostalgic he would have described the place he would have described the place he found Dean's spawn as a sleepy little town on the Wyoming and South Dakota border. He was too old and too jaded for nostalgia and so Bobby called the place Bumfuck, Nowheresville. He nearly had a heart attack when he saw the boy, spitting image of the man he once knew only younger and in gray camouflage BDU's, facing off against the forest troll he'd been tracking for two weeks. Even after ten years watching the kid move, squash fear down and strike with inhuman strength, the old hunter felt his heart skip as he lined up his sights.

The troll roared and threw the kid, ironically allowing Bobby to take his shot. He pulled the trigger on his rifle as the tiny solider hit a tree, and the hunter squeezed off three more shots before moving from his position, running as feast as he could for his age, and drawing a blessed iron knife as he did so. The kid was still but moaning and the troll was already regenerating; struggling to stand. Bobby shot its head before kneeling down to sever it from the rest of the body, then proceeded to cut out the heart.

When he looked up the boy was staring at him with wide eyes. His daddy's eyes. Winchester eyes.

Bobby swallowed as he sheathed his knife. The last time he saw those eyes they'd been drowning in sorrow. Those eyes had watched their brother get ripped to shreds and his soul dragged to hell.

The hunter approached the boy like he would a spooked horse, hands up and open. He quickly checked the troll, already falling apart into so much mulch, and held out his empty arms. "There now, son. Everything's going to be just fine." The kid's clothes were covered in dirt and sweat. There was blood and mud caked around his fingernails. Above all he was Dean; down to the last freckle. A dirty, wary, and exhausted Dean that seemed to have regressed to a child but a Dean nonetheless. It had to be Dean's son. During that last year Dean had been the king of debauchery; the age fit. "Easy. Easy. Probably cracked a rib when that thing threw ya."

The boy was a bundle of nerves when Bobby picked him up. He was light; malnourished. He had probably been wandering around the god-forsaken wilderness for weeks. "What's your name, son?"

The kid needed a hospital. He needed fluids and proper medical treatment. Bobby had no doubt that if the small boy wasn't so exhausted and scared, who wouldn't be after a run-in with a forest troll, he'd be fighting the old hunter tooth and nail.

Just like any other Winchester.

"I don't have a name, sir." The boy whispered as if ashamed. "No one ever gave us names."

And just like that Bobby decided the little brat didn't really need a hospital. This kid was obviously a solider; Winchesters were always fighting and picking wars with something, but Bobby doubted it was the usual. Part of him, the hunter part, wanted him to put the boy down with a bullet buried in his brain. No human should be able to take on a troll as well as the boy had, and barehanded. But another part of him cried out against it.

"Then what did they call you?" He'd patch up the kid at the old hunters lodge he'd spent the last three days squatting in. He was tired of losing people. He was old, dammit, he wasn't supposed to outlive his children.

Those eyes turned up, boring into him, and whirled into a confused green. "X8-493."

Bobby had to stop to rest. He was too old for trekking through brush carrying a rifle and a kid. He was too old for raising one.

But damned if he wasn't going to try. "That's kind of conspicuous." The boy looked away as his emotional gates shut down one by one. So much like Dean... "How's Dean sound?"... just what had Sam done?

End.


	2. X8 493

**Do Over  
**

**A Dark Angel/Supernatural Crossover**

**Part Two of Six - X8 493**

X8-493 is an experiment. More so than the others, he was created with the original X5 formula to determine if his now deceased predecessors instability was genetic. To determine what caused the madness. X5-494 did not exhibit the same irregularities. They want to know where they came from.

X8-493 does not tell his unit about the dreams when they start only a few weeks before X5-452 is brought in. All of Manticore knows that several of the 09'ers have been brought back. He's glad X5's and X8's never have the same training time. 452 scares him, though he'll never admit it, because when he thinks of her his neck twinges painfully. He's seen her in the fragments of the dreams. She hurts him. She says mean things and confuses him so he can't think, can't fight, straight.

And sometimes he dreams of other things. He dreams of being a good solider. Of fighting. Of killing.

Of family.

493 doesn't tell his unit though he thinks these dreams may be why his X5 counterpart went crazy. He starts to watch his unit mates hungrily and whenever the instructors yell at them he wants to jump forward and yell back. He always cared about them before, a little too much Renfro once said, so he doesn't act on the instincts. He doesn't call them brother or sister. He doesn't tell them that angels are watching over them.

He isn't X5-493. He doesn't have to make those mistakes.

But then Manticore burns, and he knows, knows, knows it was 452 that did it, and nothing matters anymore. He isn't sure if anyone actually gave the order. He remembers the door opening and everyone running from the inferno.

Escape and Evade.

Someone gave the order, surely. He ran erratically, heart pounding, and he remembered his dreams. He knows how the cover his tracks. He knows how to be suspicious. X8-493 doesn't trust the blinking light in the sky. The older dreams don't trust it, and when he hears a ramshackle unit get gunned down he slinks away and disappears. X8-493 is a survivor. He may be defective, but he'll accept that. He can be happy with that because when his dreams take flesh in the world he's too tired to care. The man is older, grayer, and more tired than he remembers.

"How's Dean sound?"

Dean. Dean was a solider, he thinks, a good son. He fought anomolies. He took care of his family. Honorably. X8-493 can be Dean.


	3. Impala

**Do Over  
**

**A Dark Angel/Supernatural Crossover**

**Part Three of Six - Impala**

She's been sleeping for years, dozing on and off while waiting for her boys to return. The steward has kept her clean and dry, makes sacrament, and occasionally takes her out for long, lazy drives along the back roads she knows better than anything else. He's sad when he does it. She can feel the pain dripping off of him but there's nothing she can do. He misses her boys but he does not have the luxury of sleep as she does. He has been a good steward.

The old truck he drives gives a loud respectful rumble as it approaches her shrine. She stirs at the slamming of the Toyota door, hears his heavy footsteps crunch on the gravel, and prepares to drift back into sleep. The scent of oils and blood drifts over her grill bringing with it a startling revelation. It only takes a second to throw off long held chains of sleep as her awareness branches out. A strong wind blows through and the door of the shrine creaks open allowing the two to see one another.

"Dean, ya need to come inside. We need to check those ribs a yours." The stewards voice rumbles out across the junkyard and her soul sings as she detects the boy she's missed for so long. He's small, so small, but he burns just as bright as he always has. He crosses over to her shrine and pushes open the door, she can hear a faint pain filled breath and experince tells her the cause.

The monsters have hurt her warrior-priest. They have injured her child, her boy, and it angers her. Magic laced runes long dormant crackle to life as she slides forward, the cloth cover sliding off her black and gleaming body, and he gasps not with pain but awe. Small calloused hands stroke her body like a lover. It is almost as if no time has passed. He is hers. Always has been. Always will be.

"Baby." He breathes his title for her. It is an endearment that she has longed to hear from his lips. "You're beautiful." Of course she is.

"I see you found the Old Girl." A playful smirk comes to the steward's lips. "You can have your moment after I check that wrap. Hop-to."

His hands don't want to leave her. Child sized fingertips trail along her body as he goes, a lingering farewell and a promise to return. The steward watches, something moving in his dark eyes, and he watches her with something akin to suspicion as her priest walks past and up the steps into the temple. She does not mind. She will be waiting, timeless, and ever patient.

She can do no less for the soul that took her broken, shattered body and rebuilt it. Blood, sweat, and tears have been sacrificed within her, on her, around her. She has soaked up decades of violence and love. She is a goddess, but what is a goddess without her priest? Her people?

An empty shell. Worthless.

She will wait for her child. He has returned to her, and soon they will be be together, properly, again. And the sky will weep blood.

End.


	4. Jo

**Do Over**

**A Dark Angel/Supernatural Crossover**

**Part Four of Six - Jo**

She didn't know what to think of the kid. It was like going back to a time before she was born and it was... strangely nice. Just looking at him eased some hurt in her chest she hadn't even been aware was present. "Is he really Dean's?" She asked Bobby over a cup of whiskey-laced coffee.

"I don't know." The other hunter sighed. They watched from the porch as the kid stood out in a little patch of weeds among the old junkers and went through some form of martial arts. He wore a ragged pair of jeans cut off at the knee and the white bandages around his torso stood out like a beacon. "What else could he be?"

"Shifter?" Jo guessed without any real conviction. She wanted to believe that the little solider was Dean's. Wanted it, and didn't know why. She had been there when his, supposed, Daddy died. Unable to do anything, she and her mother listened to the screams, the sound of flesh tearing, and had breathed in the scent of ash and sulfur as the Hellhounds tracked their prey.

"Silver didn't have any effect, neither did holy water or salt. I've tried everything. Even goofer dust."

"That so?" She set her mug on the little table and rocked forward out of the wicker chair. Her knee gave a twinge as she hobbled down the stairs and out to the kid. Ever since Jericho, Missouri she hadn't quite gotten back full function of her left leg. Being mauled by black dog will do that. "Hey, kid."

The boy turned, and his eyes were so bright and so Dean's it made her breath catch in her throat. "Ma'am?"

"Heard you got some ribs busted up. Sure you should be running around?" She asked and as she did so the boy stared at her, something in his bearing shifting as he watched. His posture tensed, full lips thinned in concentration, and he froze as realization went through his body like an electric shock.

Almost as an after thought he answered her. "I heal fast, Ma'am."

She knelt down, biting back the groan of pain her knee demanded, and looked into those big green eyes. She ran her fingers through his hair and her thumb along his cheek. She wanted to take him inside and bake him some pie. Cherry had always been Dean's favorite. Her mother would make it and leave it out, but she never offered it. It was enough for the oldest Winchester just to know it was there, that they cared, and he didn't do chick-flick moments.

He peered up at her, unsure, before asking, "What's REO Speedwagon?"

"Excuse me?"

He shuffled on his feet, back going straight, and stared directly ahead. He was shutting down, one emotion at a time, and turning into the consummate soldier awaiting orders. He thought she was upset with him? Because he asked a question, or because he didn't know the answer?

It made her mad. The cold steel at her back called her name ever so sweetly and she wanted to put it in his hand and tell him to show her where the bad thing was. She had a bum leg, but that didn't mean she was a gimp. So what if her gait was a little off? She had two eyes, ten fingers, and she had better aim than most men she met.

Instead she grabbed him up and breathed in his scent. Pine fresh, and under that something indescribable. "Oh, honey. They're just an old rock band." He was too big for it, but she did it anyway. She nearly fell over propping him on her hip like a big baby but he was so damn light for his size. It was like he had hollow bones or something. "Why?"

Bobby was hiding a smile behind his hand, the old coot. Jo ignored him and nudged open the screen door with her foot. Little Dean looked like he had just been hit over the head with a brick. It was priceless. She wanted to kiss him. He was blushing and looking at anything but her. One of his legs brushed against the pistol at her back.

"I just..." He quieted.

"It's okay, Dean." She ended up depositing him on the counter. Screw her hard earned tough-as-nails Hunter reputation, she was making a pie and anyone who said anything against it was getting a mouth full of lead. "I won't be mad with you."

"I just had the thought that you like it, whatever it was." He was picking at his bandages as he said it. Jo set the sack of flour on the table and sighed. Bobby had mentioned this. He seemed to know things he shouldn't know: untrained psychic? Whoever had him before no doubt abused him and his gift.

She reached into her pocket for a band to tie back her long blonde hair. Her mother said she should cut it if she was going to stick with the hunting gig, but Ellen Harvelle had always liked it long and after Kansas City she hadn't the will to do anything beside trim the split ends. Her mother had gone down fighting and took the monster down with her. Jo sniffed and began cutting the butter into the flour to make crust.

Dean's feet hit against the bottom cabinet. "Ma'am?"

She turned and wiped a tear from her eyes smearing flour along her cheek. "Yes?"

He was watching her with something like wonder. "Is," He swallowed and pure want shone out of those hazel eyes. They swirled with color and emotion and she could have drowned in them. "Is your name Mary?"

"No, honey." In all the confusion, she'd forgotten to introduce herself. How careless. "It's Joanna-Beth. Jo."

The spark left his eyes leaving a cold desolate wasteland. "Oh."

She wondered how many times the human heart could break before it stopped working altogether.

End.


	5. Sam

**Do Over**

**A Supernatural/Dark Angel Crossover**

**Part Five of Six - Sam**

It started with the dreams, but didn't it always? She could remember laying awake at night, riding the shakes and exhaustion, just so she wouldn't have to hear the screaming or smell the acrid scent of burning meat and hair. Sometimes the actors changed but it was always people she had never met. Never seen. And yet they were all so real.

And she was big. Really big. Big enough to crush Lydecker and their handlers, big enough to protect everyone... but somehow she knew being big wasn't enough. It never was and so she kept her head down and followed orders with her unit because it felt familiar, like it was the right thing to do when the men barked orders no matter how much they grated, but she didn't tell anyone when she dreamed of herself fleeing in the night. Herself, but not.

_Shapeshifter._ The word whispered through her mind, bubbling up in bits and pieces, and she caught it with trembling hands and stored it away.

Not real. Not real. She was not a 'nomalie. She wasn't_._ Wasn't.

Then the 09'ers vanished, one of them her twin, and she swallowed her tongue, kept her head down, and went to Psy-Ops with everyone else who's doubles escaped. Ran away. Abandoned their unit. She met _him_ there, 494, and for a moment thought she was still dreaming.

But she wasn't, and he _didn't_, and she kept her head down. Followed orders. Following orders doesn't get you in trouble. It doesn't end with your brother being torn apart and dragged off to the Basement because you were too weak and stupid to Take. The. Shot.

She had the best aim in her unit.

Life and training continued. Her scores in empathy and assimilation were the best. A real prodigy, they said behind glass when they thought she couldn't hear, should get back 452 for comparison. She didn't tell them she could almost feel them, like a warm gust of air she could reach out and touch, and through that she knew what they wanted, when they wanted it. Like a good solider, she delivered.

It got her the long term espionage mission. She wasn't complaining. They even let her pick the alias for it.

When Manticore burned, her double the hand behind the act, she nearly laughed herself sick. Fire always seemed to follow in their wake. Fire and death. But her alibi was good, her cover fool-proof, and she truly loved her husband. He liked her. The boy was adorable and they had another on the way. White picket fence and two point five kids: the American Dream.

She could have it. She could. It was right _there_.

She should have known better. White and his little cult, and the former was like a knife in the gut because she should have seen the supernatural shit coming but it still hurt like a mother, ruined it. The cat, in more ways than one, was out of the bag. They would never be safe. White wasn't stopped by borders. Unless she was willing to follow the examples set in her dreams her husband and son, maybe sons, would be in danger. Always.

You can't run from a curse. You can only get out of its way and hope for the best.

So here she was, lingering in a sub-par apartment complex taking inventory of their weapons while Jesse took John to the movies. It was safer there, in a crowd, and she had things to do. Someone had broken in to an apartment two floors below last night. An apartment her gut had told her was too cold to be normal.

It was done so smoothly, she almost didn't hear it, and by the time she had whirled to face the intruder the gun was already cocked and in her face. Her own was still in pieces on the table with the smell of cleaning oil in the air.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she looked at glacial green eyes staring into her brown ones. There was hardness and a fear, kill it before it kills us kind, but also something else. She reached out with that thing that frightened her, always gave her little headaches afterward, and tried to figure out what the Manticore made boy wanted. She could see his barcode reflecting in the glass of the clock-face behind him.

X8-493.

A kid. He still had the faintest traces of baby-fat clinging to his cheeks, not much older than little John, but he had never been a kid. Manticore didn't make children: they made soldiers.

The boy continued to stare and slowly, miraculously, he stepped backward and the cold, hard determination melted from his features into hope and disbelief. She relaxed her shoulders and carefully moved toward the knife taped to the underside of the table. 493's... aura?... was going all over the place and part of it felt familiar. That little bit that 494 had lacked.

The boy cracked a hopeful smile. "I always knew you were a girl, Sam."

She smiled back and the word came to her lips as if another were talking through her. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

When she looked out the grubby window and down the street, she was somehow not surprised to see a blonde woman caressing a 9mm while leaning against an eerily familiar Impala.

End.


	6. Castiel

**Do Over**

**A Supernatural/Dark Angel Crossover**

**Part Six of Six - Castiel**

A human once said: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The statement is one of many that litter his vessel's mind, and Castiel ponders the truth of it as he stands atop the Seattle Space Needle watching God's creations mill about below. Not many would consider the current era one of beauty. Not with the ruined buildings, and the checkpoints, the smog and the paranoia. He thinks it is, though.

When the pulse hit, some thought it was the Apocalypse, but it wasn't.

Just the opposite, really.

The door on the tower swings open with surprising smoothness, a testament to how often the girl comes here, and she pauses at the sight of him. "Oh, uh, didn't know anyone else was up here."

In an abstract way, Castiel thinks they make quite the pair. His vessel dressed in Sunday best, rumpled from two decades of use, and her in dark denim and leather. Her mind is... strange. She's a soldier trying not to be, scoffing at humanities attempt to enforce order, then getting upset at the idea of others thinking of her as inhuman. Flickers of memory and animalistic wants float around her mind with regrets that she would do again and again if given the choice.

All of his Father's creations are so very strange, and yet so very unique and beautiful. Works of Art.

"He's not gone, you know." His own voice comes out gravely from disuse. Angels don't have to vocalize in order to communicate to one another.

"Who are you talking about?" Her eyes narrow while she moves to the side, ready to go for him, or the door, whichever makes the most sense when the time comes.

"Ben."

She freezes, shock giving way to suspicion and anger. "Are you Manticore? Did that Bitch send you?" She steps closer, poised to strike, and her voice drops a few decibels while carrying threat. "Did you assholes do to Ben what you did to Zack?"

Castiel tilts his head back, observing her. The loyalty she displays to her family is commendable. Worthy of Heaven's best. For a moment he thinks she really would pounce on him, despite how dangerous such a battle -one sided as it would be, though she doesn't know that- would be, and his vessel's lips twitch. "I am not Manticore."

She's now in his face, dark eyes staring up into his blue eyes with challenge. "Then who the fuck are you? How do you know about Ben?"

He doesn't intend to answer her. He didn't come to the Needle for a confrontation, but then he feels the slightest flicker of Grace and knows he isn't alone.

Castiel moves forward, heat in his eyes, and Max quickly backtracks before scowling at the fact she just gave ground. Then her eyes go wide as Castiel releases his own Grace the tiniest bit, and he can see the shadows of his wings reflected in her eyes.

"Y-You're an-" She trails off, then gets so angry tears prick at the corner of her eyes. Castiel can feel his brother's amusement. "What the hell have you been doing? Why didn't you help us... help him..."

She takes a swing, and Castiel has spent the last ten years acquainting himself with human culture even if he doesn't understand it. He catches her fist in his palm, eyes hard. She can't understand the whys, she couldn't even begin to get the full picture, but he's so tired of the expectations, "I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. Read the Old Testament. I'm a soldier."

_As you should be_, goes unsaid.

She stumbles back, jaw set, and with a flutter of wings Castiel wills himself to the space-between. Max whirls around, looking for him, but he doesn't register on any of her enhanced senses.

Uriel steps up to him, arms crossed over his chest, sardonic smile in place. "Brother, sometimes I just don't understand you."

"Nor I you, Uriel." Castiel replies as they watch the girl turn her eyes skyward. "The younger Winchester?" Who would have thought that Uriel's sense of humor would cause him to nudge the genetics just enough to make Sam Winchester's new body female?

"Still happily settled into womanhood. The crisis with White passed, and she's carrying the next vessels." Castiel nods, and Uriel frowns. "This monitoring of the bloodline is too troublesome. Let the Righteous Man _go_, it will happen sooner or later, and I for one am tired of waiting."

Castiel whirls around, his Grace shining around him, and he glares. Uriel averts his eyes. "And when it does, it will be a time of _our _choosing. Not the demons. Ours."

"And when will this be?"

Castiel shrugs, a human affectation he's picked up, and Uriel rolls his eyes. They can keep up the reincarnation for as long as it takes. Decades. Centuries. Millennia.

Azazel should have thought of that before starting his little game.

Fin.


End file.
